That First Kiss - A Sherlolly Embrace
by Maejones
Summary: A S4 missing scene set just after Sherlock and John and Molly meet for his birthday (end of The Lying Detective). Molly sees Sherlock back to his flat to give him a birthday gift.


A thousand deductions tumbled through Sherlock's mind as he ruminated over the small gift-bag Molly had given him only moments ago. He shifted in his chair at Baker street, fully cognisant of her gaze as she stood over him. He had never received another carefully wrapped gift from Molly after that fateful Christmas when he had insulted her efforts at wooing who turned out to be him. Molly had gone out of her way to avoid any overt displays of interest since then, in fact. It had gotten to the point he questioned if she harbored any romantic affections for him anymore. The slap-dash appearance of the gift-bag on its surface suggested this as well; that is, until one looked a little closer. The tissue wrap had little creases in it and a smudge from worrying over its appearance. The bag and tissue were obnoxiously disparate in their appearance; the bag was printed with a blue plaid while the tissue was a garish orange and yellow polka-dot theme. He fingered the attached tag to reveal its message.

 _"Happy Birthday, Sherlock. Cheers, Molly."_

The uppercase 'C' in cheers was written with a bit of hesitation as if someone questioned the appropriateness of that particular sign-off. A tide of relief stole over him. Carelessness. Everything about the package attempted to speak of carelessness to him but he saw through its pretension.

"This was unnecessary," Sherlock murmured as he looked up from the bag to Molly, "but thank-you."

She shrugged and brushed a hair from her forehead. "It's nothing really, but I thought you might need it."

He did his best to remain stone-faced. "Hmm . . ."

Molly's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What? What is it?"

Sherlock made an exaggerated, unconcerned face. "Oh, nothing, I was just curious as to why you didn't give it to me at the cafe."

Her eyes danced away for a second. She swallowed.

"I-I didn't want to give it to you in front of John."

His lips pulled tight. Curious, he reached into the bag and pulled out a tube of . . . ointment? His brows twisted as he gazed down at it. Molly saw his expression, huffed and snatched it out of his hand. In the next tick, she sat down on the arm of his chair, twisted the lid off the tube and flicked up his chin with the heel of her thumb. Then, with an intense look of concentration, she squeezed a bit of the ointment on her index finger and reached for his brow. He flinched as she dabbed a bit of it over the stitched wound above his eye. It didn't hurt so much as it surprised him.

"Sorry," she mumbled as she inspected her handiwork, "but it will help reduce the scarring. I want you to put it on twice a day for the next four weeks-"

Sherlock sputtered a single laugh. "It's just a small cut! Trust me, I am not so vain that this will bother me if it scars."

Something twitched in Molly's face and she glanced down at her hands. He drew in a covert breath as he saw her shakily close up the tube again. Desperate to dispel her unspoken distress, he opted for teasing.

"Come, are you worried I won't be as pretty? I promise, I still will be."

Molly pressed her lips together to suppress a smile but her eyes lingered on the ointment. "You are such an arrogant cock, Sherlock Holmes."

He chuckled and absentmindedly pushed back the locks that kept escaping from her ponytail. Her cheeked jumped under the pads of his fingers before her eyes snapped up in surprise. Suddenly, he was acutely aware of the fact that she was nearly seated on his lap. His hand dropped to her shoulder and jittered there for a moment. Then, as if they had a mind of their own, his fingers curled around the back of her neck under her ponytail. His chest heaved as if he were trying to breathe under a heavy weight pinning him down. She blinked at him several times, her eyes searched his face.

"Sh-Sherlock?"

He sat up, inhaled several more lungfuls of air and started calculating. His brain whizzed with the solving of formulas; a coping mechanism, as if his subconscious was trying to distract him. It was futile. In the following heartbeat, he'd pulled her from the arm of the chair to his lap. His head descended and paused with his lips hovering just above her mouth. He was overwhelmed by his own actions and the thought of what came next, but he was powerless to resist it all the same. When she gasped, he finally kissed her.

Molly.

Her lips were at first stunned but with a feather-lite coax by him, they quivered and began to move. He groaned and pulled her closer. His lips pressed more insistently on hers and teased them apart. His small doctor was no slouch. She dropped the tube she had been holding and wrapped her arms around his neck. Years of pent-up frustration opened liked floodgates and it was all he could do to keep up with her ardent response. Her lips were insatiable, greedy even. She was all tongues and wriggling and whimpering and he was lost. Before he knew it, his soul had taken flight and the world was left behind. It was Molly who brought him down again. After several moments, she rested her forehead against his cheek and panted for air. His hands vibrated on her neck and back. He didn't know what to do next. He had just kissed one of his best friends, something he had thought about doing but only ever in a semi-detached manner. Somehow he had known that it would be just like this - heady and intoxicating and mind-bending.

"Ha-ah, huh," Molly wheezed, "god."

"Mm, hmm," Sherlock murmured, "yup."

She raised her head to peer at him. Her large, brown eyes were luminous with shock.

"Th-That wasn't supposed to happen," she whispered, "I mean, I . . . I didn't expect that . . . from you."

Sherlock panicked. What did he say? He didn't know what it meant (aside from the inconvenient little fact that his world was forever altered). Did it mean something? What did he do now, he wondered frantically? A kind of flash of understanding flickered in Molly's eyes as she regarded him. She gulped back a breath and next thing he knew, he was embraced in a hug.

"Y-You're just . . . really appreciative of your present, right?" she prodded. "S'okay, you're welcome."

He wanted to say something else, anything else, but instead, he took the coward's way out.

"Thank-you for my gift, Molly."

"N-No problem, Sherlock."

His arms tightened around her. His Molly. His.

 _"Oh, blast,"_ he thought, _"that's what it means."_


End file.
